Once free of her apartment, it was a short ride across the bay to the peninsula where the space port was. The little bay was nestled in a sleazy Northern California town which was the ideal place for a space port. Dilapidated economy, drug culture, no technology. The early 22nd Century had passed this area by, leaving the land wide open for a cheap acquisition when Space Gen came to town. Day by day the water came in and the water went out. The moon was like a plunger, flushing and cleaning the bay on a daily basis, nature’s way of keeping the planet clean. This place was her home and she had grown to like it in the last two years. In a week, the last two ships would launch, and the mission to Alpha Centauri would leave without her. She wasn’t about to let that happen. Suddenly, the sun broke free of fog and coastal clouds, illuminating the grey-green water with a shred of hope. The smell of bay mud seeped through the air filtration system but she didn’t mind. It reminded her she was human and nature needed relief.

  Belleny glanced out the window over the last rise and looked to her left where two rockets stood ready on their launch pads. They were no small achievement, towering over the surrounding landscape, the houses, and even the bay. She knew the distance was all wrong because they were much further away, which only made her heart swell more. She was responsible for this, the driving force behind Interstellar Travel and the brain child of the technology which would enable humans to achieve their salvation.

  “You really need to focus on the task at hand,” her personal assistant interrupted as the air car pushed up to the speed limit and bucked gently against the computerized restraint. “In eighteen minutes and thirty seconds, you will be asking your boss to put his trust in you.”

  Belleny looked somberly at her personal assistant and scowled. “It’s not as if we’re lovers.”

  “Exactly!” The human form behind her moved up from the back seat. It was a daily routine, some sick twist in his sympathy protocol that made him seem to care but bordered on needy. “You have no feelings for your boss, which means there is no need to be self-conscious or tone down your personality.”

  “I don’t remember asking for advice this morning.”

  “No need, it’s my sworn duty to protect and serve.”

  “Don’t mess with me, I’m already stressed without your input.”

  Brannik was an older gentleman, slightly disproportioned so there would be no mistake he was an Artificial Intelligence Robot. She had chosen his features on purpose, so he wouldn’t be mistaken for an older lover when they were out on the town or attending a conference. It seemed simpler, and now he had grown on her. Like a dog who everyone hates, but their true master would fight to the bitter end. The dog licked and bit, but the master saw beyond the flaws to the love and loyalty. It was second nature for a dog to adore a human, and her Bot had that algorithm integrated as a natural phenomenon. She wanted to research it, understand the programming deeper, but she didn’t have time, so she had let it go and pretended she didn’t like him.

  Still, Brannik had grown on her in a most annoying way. All Bots came off the assembly line fully functional, yet there were farms where Bots could be trained to a higher pedigree. They were dedicated ranches where humans spent almost a year training the prospective robots in a full range of human emotions, ethics, functionality, charisma, and combat. These weren’t cheap, and most people opted out, but for those who did, they had a Bot with far deeper sympathy protocols.  

  She glanced over and realized he was a handsome father figure, and of course she trusted him. If she were seeing a shrink, that would have been the first order of business. Were you molested? Yes. Did your father love you? Of course. How would you classify your childhood? Glorious. She had no regrets, besides the fact her father was like fifty percent of all the men on the planet. That was something which hadn’t changed in two hundred years. Men were still selfish, life destroying assholes. Not all men, but fifty percent was a horrible average in today’s popular voting environment.

  She smiled at Brannik and said, “Marcus is the CEO, but I’m the brain child. He has to go along with my request.”

  “I notice you’re not using your allure this morning,” he referenced the fact she always seemed to be the center of attention, and of course, he knew her morning ritual intimately.

  “Thanks, that’s the look I’m going for. I want them to take me seriously.”

  “Your heart rate is up, skin flush, perspiration twenty percent, are you nervous?” he asked like a concerned friend.

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